


How to Get Drunk With Your Friends (aka: Bottles of Thedas)

by lurart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Drinking Games, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurart/pseuds/lurart
Summary: What else would the inquisition do with the unopened bottles of alcohol found in random corners of Thedas other than drink them?This has been done before, but I'm doing it anyway. Random ficlets inspired by the Bottles of Thedas codex entries. You can expect a lot of Female Levellan/Cullen Rutherford content, and companion fun. Tags are subject to change and be added to.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 14





	1. Butterbile 7:84

**Author's Note:**

> Lot's of drinking and swearing ahead!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A hard liquor that is not so much served as it is brandished. Coarse and indifferent, it is to your taste, or it is not. The failing is yours if you cannot raise—or lower—to the challenge of a distiller told not to."

It all started with a bottle of swill rightfully called Butterbile.

Sera’s sudden whoop of joy startled Wrylen Levellan and pulled her attention away from the templar corpse she was looting. Blackwall and Cassandra also turned their heads toward the abandoned hut behind them as the hyperactive elf bounded out the door waving a bottle above her head.

“Jackpot! Who’s getting sloshed at camp with me?”

She laughed and tossed the bottle at Blackwall, who made a panicked grunt as he caught the unexpected pass. He turned it over in his grip and studied it with a raised brow. Cassandra gave it a glance before turning back to the other corpses without comment. Wrylen stood with a groan and stretched as Blackwall began to read the label.

“Butterbile, 7:84? Never had the stuff but uh, I’ve certainly heard of it…,” He trailed off cryptically as he passed the bottle to Wrylen’s now waiting hand.

The bottle was nothing special. It was a tanned, mostly opaque glass, and definitely looked like it was covered in several thin layers of dirt. The label was nearly rubbed off and the moniker “Butterbile 7:84” was scribbled on with ink. She grimaced and met Sera’s excited gaze.

“I can’t say I’m interested in drinking something with ‘bile’ in the name.”

“Awh come _aaawn_ ,” Sera snatched the bottle from her and stuffed it down her pack, “Sun’s already on its way down so let’s scurry back, yeah?”

“Levellan, Ser! Report for you from Haven.”

Wrylen threw her over-filled pack onto the ground and grabbed the papers from the officer with a nod while the others settled in. She was thankful Sera had suggested they head back when they did; by the time they’d spotted their lakeside campsite from the distance, it had already grown dark. Now that they were finally back at camp, Wrylen could feel exhaustion creeping into her bones.

“Aight Sparky, put those papers away, you can read ‘em in the morning! You’ll be up at ass-crack of day anyway!”

Wrylen shouted a sharp _hey!_ as Sera ripped the report from her hands and replaced it with a mug. She considered protesting further, but noticing everyone else was already settling around the fire as well weakened her resolve. She landed in the dirt beside Cassandra with a sigh and held out her mug.

“Blackwall, you said you’ve heard of this drink?” Cassandra asked, watching Sera pour shots of the Butterbile in everyone’s cups. She made a face when the brownish liquid began to fill her own container. Wrylen quirked a brow, amused that the seeker was so readily joining in as well.

“Yeah, it uh. It doesn’t have a great backstory.” He offered, chuckling when Cassandra and Wrylen both shot him concerned looks.

“Who cares what it is! A drink’s a drink, now everyone, _drink!_ ” Sera threw up her cup in a toast and tossed it back, the others following only a second behind.

Wrylen swallowed and then gagged as a taste she could only describe as rancid fat and pure alcohol assaulted her senses. Cassandra joined her in a bout of coughing and retching as Sera laughed on hysterically.

“Holy _shitballs_ ,” Sera was crying, but it was hard to tell if it was from laughter or the fumes from her drink, “This stuff is fucking awful! I love it!”

Blackwall was already pouring himself another shot, completely unaffected and laughing along with her.

“Oh yeah. This’ll put hair on your chest. Certainly not great but, y’know what?” He grinned at Sera, “A drink’s a drink.”

He filled her cup and they clanked their mugs together before tossing back their second shot of the night. Wrylen blinked back the tears in her own eyes and rubbed at her face with the sleeve of her mage robes. She at least felt a sense of solidarity when she saw that Cassandra was in a similar state. Her face and neck bloomed red and she was quickly gulping down what water was left in her canteen. She gasped as she came up for air.

“What in the Makers name is that, that, demon-piss!”

Sera giggled and tossed the now open bottle to Cassandra, who swore as she spilled at least another shots worth in her attempt to catch it.

“Sera, _please-_ “

“Oh calm down, it ain’t worth shite, who cares if we spill a little! Now come on, both of you need to catch up!”

Wrylen balked at the other elf, but held out her mug to Cassandra. An enticing warmth had already begun to soak into her chest and spread through her limbs, encouraging her to brave another moment of discomfort for the state of mind that was to come.

Cassandra poured everyone’s shots this time and uttered a prayer to the maker as she threw her cup back. They all groaned that time, even Blackwall, and Sera rocked up onto her feet with a plan to get them through the whole bottle.

“Time for a game! You three are helpin' me finish ‘er off wether you like it or not, so let’s have a game to make it better yeah?” She sniggered.

She poured everyone a shot as she explained, “We’ll each ask someone a question, _any_ question, an if you won’t answer, you take a shot o’ the piss! If you answer, the asker drinks! Easy, right? I’m first!”

She whipped her head toward Cassandra and grinned.

“Do you shout for Andtraste or the Maker in bed?”

Cassandra glared daggers at the rogue without a word. She took a look at the bile in her mug before answering, her voice dripping with annoyance.

“The Maker. Now drink, brat.”

Sera stuck out her tongue and drank without hesitation.

They moved around the circle and against all odds, began to reach the bottom of the bottle. After only a few rounds, Blackwall and Sera seemed to get into their own little competition, both drinking whether they had to or not, as if to see who could stomach the Butterbile more. After only a few shots, Wrylen felt like she was swaying where she sat, hunched over and eyelids heavy with drink and exhaustion. She watched as Cassandra thought of a question for her, trying not to zone out. Finally, she met Wrylen’s gaze with a grin that would have made her look as devious as Sera, if not for the blush that made the whole expression adorably timid.

“Did I catch you staring at the Commander’s ass yesterday?”

Wrylen giggled at Cassandra’s words and felt herself flush. But honestly, she was too drunk to actually give a shit. She knocked her last shot back and bit back the urge to retch as she flashed Cassandra a toothy smile.

“Which time?”

“For tits sake, _Shut Up Beardy_!”

Wrylen groaned as the muffled shout roused her from her deep sleep. She forced herself up into a sitting position and immediately regretted it as a pounding headache rolled into action. Without having opened her eyes, she could tell they’d slept in irresponsibly late. She took a deep breath in an attempt to ground herself as she blinked her eyes open.

They hadn’t even made it back to their tents last night.

Wrylen lay tangled up in one of her blankets and by the looks of it, had decided to spend the night in full dress on the bare ground. Sera was in a similar state, only she’d removed her top during the night, leaving her in only her breast band from the waist up. She didn’t even have a blanket over her, and instead lay face down like a corpse, her face shoved into her wadded-up shirt. Blackwall sat against his tent, upright but fast asleep and snoring _loudly._ He’d taken off his plates of armor, but otherwise was also still fully dressed, boots included.

It seemed Cassandra was the only one who’d sobered up at least somewhat before passing out. She wasn’t in her tent, but her whole bedroll was laid out with her tucked neatly inside, breathing softly. By the looks of it, she’d also changed into more comfortable clothes before tucking herself in.

A muffled groan came from Sera’s direction, and Wrylen watched her struggle to sit up. Their eyes met, and though she looked like straight terror, a sleepy, lopsided grin lazily stretched across Sera’s face.

“We’re definitely doin’ that again.”


	2. Vint-9 Rowan's Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Delicate to the nose, comfort to the tongue, and, strangely, a half-remembered whisper to the ears. It is described as—and inspires—a wistful spirit. A vintner's opus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, drinking, and being incredibly homesick.

Wrylen eyed the bottle in her hand with cautious interest.

She was once again in the Hinterlands, this time with the hopes of securing a stronger foothold within the region for the inquisition. Cullen and Josephine had stressed cementing a firm presence in the area before they approached the mage rebellion with an alliance, and she certainly couldn’t argue against the idea. Though she was uncomfortable being the face of the growing movement, she did enjoy getting to spend her time traveling instead of sitting idly by in her little shack at Haven while the world caved in around her.

She had just finished establishing a relationship with the Cult of Andraste and was ready to call it a day, when Varric suggested they stop by the cult’s tavern. Said tavern turned out to be fairly makeshift and didn’t have much to offer outside the basic necessities. The few libations it stocked were just whatever had been foraged from the rubble of the crossroads the day before.

That didn’t stop the bartender from offering Wrylen and her crew his best bottle of wine as an offering of goodwill, however.

“Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose…” She read aloud with a raised brow, “…’a wistful spirit only best described as a half-remembered whisper to the ears.’”

Varric let out a low whistle, “Damn. That’s a good line. I’m stealing it.”

The cultist-bartender bid them a safe journey as the two left to meet their companions outside. Solas took the bottle from Wrylen’s offering hand to study it himself while Cassandra led the group out of the run-down fortress the cult occupied.

“I would certainly appreciate a chance to taste this. It sounds like a particularly fine vintage.”

“Let’s focus on getting back to Haven first. I’d rather not have a repeat of our last trip,” Cassandra declared from ahead. Wrylen stifled a laugh when Solas shot her a quizzical look. Varric chuckled knowingly, causing Cassandra’s shoulders to stiffen in response.

“Oh, from what Sera mentioned, you handled yourself pretty well that night, seeker. Maybe we _should_ have our own little party at camp tonight.”

Cassandra refused to respond and instead picked up her pace. Wrylen decided to step in.

“Sorry guys, but we have a job to do. We’ll open it up when we get back to Haven, I promise.”

“A wise decision. We did set out with a goal in mind,” Solas agreed. Wrylen couldn’t help but take note of the disappointment in his voice, though.

Varric sighed dramatically, “Oh, alright. We’d better get back soon then.”

Wrylen hummed to herself and relaxed into the hot bath, feeling the stiffness in her joints begin to melt away. The tub she used was small and worn, but her small frame allowed her to stay mostly submerged, with a little maneuvering. She ran her hands through her silvery hair, attempting to wash out the grime that had built up after their latest trek through the Hinterlands. As she washed, she reheated the bath every so often with a bit of magic, determined to soak for as long as possible.

Once every surface felt scrubbed raw, she lounged back into the bath again, allowing her mind to drift. Thanks to cleaning up the crossroads, recruiting agents and establishing more outposts, they were finally ready to talk to the mages. Her encounter with the templars at Val Royeaux had only strengthened her preexisting distrust of the group, and she was glad to finally get to turn her back on them completely.

She was thankful that her first real political move was fully supported by the experts surrounding her. Cullen had been the only one to initially disagree with the plan, but it didn’t take long for him to be convinced. Wrylen watched the water swirling around her as she moved to heat the bath again, thoughts suddenly drifting to the commander’s furrowed brow and broad shoulders.

“Ooh _Spark-y_!”

Sera’s sing-song voice from outside startled Wrylen and pulled her out of her relaxing trance. She shouted back at the other elf with an edge of panic in her voice.

“D-don’t come in! Hang on!”

She muttered a sharp _shit_ as her quick exit from the bath caused the water to splash and splatter on the floor around her. She scowled in annoyance when she heard Sera’s muffled sniggering beyond the door.

“Hurry up! We got things to do y’know!”

Wrylen muttered curses at the girl as she pulled on whatever warm and comfortable clothes were closest to her.

“Like _what_ , exactly? It’s already dark and I’ve only just got back.”

She half-tucked her tunic into her thick leggings and pulled on a thick enchanter’s coat as she stomped toward the door. She shot Sera a glare as she let her in and turned to pull on her boots, fully aware that the other elf was about to drag her out into the cold.

“Aw don’t you look so nice and fresh. Here, we ain’t going far but that wet hair’ll still mess you up!”

Tying up her boots had distracted her enough that Sera was able to attack Wrylen’s head with her used towel. Wrylen yelped as the other elf scrubbed at her shoulder-length hair without much care for her scalp. She only stopped, laughing, when Wrylen had to literally shove her away.

“There! Perfect! Now, where’s that wine you picked up?”

“Of _course_ you’re here for that.” Wrylen huffed and tried to brush out her now slightly drier, but much messier hair with her fingers as Sera began to dig through her pack without a second thought.

“I’m here for it, _and_ you!” She threw Wrylen a grin and turned back to the pack with an _aha!_ as her fingers closed around the neck of the bottle. She immediately turned and grabbed hold of Wrylen’s arm.

Wrylen just sighed and allowed herself to be yanked out of the cabin and into the cold night air. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Varric there to greet them.

“Wow. And here I thought only Sera would be thoughtless enough to interrupt my incredibly lovely and much needed bath.” Wrylen lamented, feigning betrayal. Varric shrugged but gave her an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Starlight, but you know we can’t drink without you.”

He had the gall to wink at her. The manipulative, cunning, charming, incredible man. She shook her head in amusement and fell in step with her friends.

As they approached the tavern, Wrylen noticed Solas talking with Adan outside their cabins. Sera made a point to physically steer them all towards the door.

“Ah-ah,” Wrylen _tsked_ , “Sera, if you want that wine, Solas comes too.”

Sera whined as Wrylen planted her feet, refusing to budge even as Sera began trying to throw her body weight against her half-heartedly. Varric laughed and turned to go get the elf in question.

Sera groaned a curse but let Varric go without further complaint. Wrylen met her glower with an innocent smile and entered the tavern first, holding the door open for Sera to follow.

The tavern was lively enough no one noticed Wrylen’s entrance, which felt like a small blessing. Transitioning from living a quiet life as an introverted apprentice who happily lived in her keeper’s shadow to suddenly having a pedestal forced beneath her and divinity appointed upon her had been… difficult, to say the least. Hopefully once the breach was closed, life could return to some semblance of normalcy.

Wrylen shook herself from her thoughts and found a table in the far corner of the building. Sera disappeared as she settled into her seat only to reappear a moment later with mismatched glasses and mugs in hand. As she pulled out a chair beside Wrylen, Varric finally entered the tavern with Solas in tow.

Wrylen took the wine from Sera and poured their glasses, offering a warm greeting to Solas as he took the seat across from her. She was glad to see that he seemed excited to be included and hoped the wine would allow him to relax in Sera’s presence.

As they all took their cups, Varric lifted his in a small toast.

“To a lovely night and a hopefully just as lovely drink!”

Wrylen smiled softly and sniffed her drink, just a little wary after her experience with the last bottle of alcohol they found. A pleasant aroma of sweet berries and rose petals tickled her senses, bright and inviting. She finally took her first sip and released a soft sigh as the taste slowly coated her tongue.

The wine tasted even better than it smelled. Sharp, tart berries were the primary ingredients that danced around her mouth, but their intensity was pleasantly dulled by hints of rose petal and some other herb she couldn’t place. It was, in every way, the exact opposite of the Butterbile her and Sera had “enjoyed” weeks ago.

“My assumption was correct,” Solas hummed, swirling his glass and taking another sip, “This is a very, very fine drink.”

“ _Blegh_ , yeah, no. Don’t like it. It’s too sweet or something!” Sera gagged, making a face. Wrylen rolled her eyes, slightly amused by her friend’s revulsion.

“Whoever wrote the label was certainly… inspired,” Varric grabbed the bottle and turned it in his hand, “’wistful,’ huh?”

Wrylen stayed silent and drank more, focusing on the herb she couldn’t name. Its taste remained on her tongue longer than the other ingredients and stirred something within her. The image of a familiar creek and Keeper Deshanna crouched next to it flashed across her mind.

“ _Wistful_ my arse,” Sera studied her drink with suspicion, “wine isn’t supposed to taste like cookies. What’s ‘wistful’ about cookies?”

Wrylen’s gaze immediately flicked to the elf beside her, confused. She was surprised to find the others staring at Sera as well.

“…Cookies?” Varric asked.

Sera cocked her head and shot them all a nervous look, “I mean. It’s fruity and shit too, but I swear it tastes like burnt cookies.”

“I taste the fruit as well; berries, to be precise, an expected ingredient,” Solas looked at his own drink in contemplation, “But I don’t taste… cookies. It’s something savory, like a smoked meat.”

“You’re both wrong there,” Varric smiled in a way that reflected the emotions stirring in Wrylen’s chest, “The taste is more like a shitty malt. Not well brewed by any means, but comforting and familiar. I thought I’d never taste something like it anywhere else other than The Hanged Man. Guess I was wrong.”

He laughed then, the slap of his hand onto the table grabbing their collective attention, “Oh man, I remember the first time I had a tankard of the stuff. Hawke and I had just gotten back from the deep roads and all we wanted to do was drink our fill…”

The light in the Tavern had begun to dim, and very few patrons remained. Wrylen sat staring into her glass, feeling adrift as she only half-listened to Varric’s deep, soothing voice as he spun the group another tale. The wine was mostly gone, all that remained was whatever each of them still had left in their own cups.

She still couldn’t name the herb whose taste sat so strongly on her tongue. The more she’d had to drink, the more shaken she felt. The image that had flashed behind her eyes had grown a little stronger, but the only thing she was sure of was that she was more homesick now than she’d ever been.

Wrylen took a grounding breath and drank the last of her wine.

Not a moment after her memory had suddenly solidified, and she found herself back in the Free Marches, back with her clan. She was young and had only just begun to show signs of magic. She watched Keeper Deshanna crouch down beside the creek near their camp and begin to pick the thin, brightly colored herbs that grew along the water. She knew this area well, though it felt like a lifetime had passed since she was there last.

Deshanna turned and, noticing her, held out her hand with a welcoming smile. Wrylen slowly approached, feeling shy under the woman’s gaze, and studied the herbs in her Keeper’s hand. The woman spoke, voice melodic and wise, but her words were unrecognizable, lost to Wrylen’s memory. She offered Wrylen one of the plants.

Wrylen wrapped her small hand around the herb and held it close. It was a bright red stalk with a few small leaves at a tapered tip. She looked to Deshanna for guidance, feeling her cheeks flush when the keeper chuckled at her confusion. Deshanna grabbed a single stalk from her collection and took a bite, inviting Wrylen to do the same.

The herb bloomed bitter and pungent against her tongue, bringing tears to her eyes. She had the urge to spit and retch, but she fought against it, chewing the foul-tasting plant as long as she could before finally swallowing. When she looked back up to Deshanna, the keeper’s smile was proud, and she raised a hand to Wrylen’s cheek to brush away her tears.

Varric’s voice, soft and concerned, pulled her out of her haze and back to her present surroundings. Her friends had gone completely quiet, all of their attentions on her. She realized with a start that she was crying.

“Hey there, Starlight. You alright?”

Wrylen’s laugh came out as a short sob, a sharp contrast to the grin she was trying to make.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just…” She winced at the quiver in her voice and wiped the tears from her eyes, “I was just remembering something.”

Varric’s eyes were calm and understanding as he smiled at her. Solas glanced down to his now empty glass, face unreadable. Sera scooted her chair closer and pressed up against Wrylen’s side.

“It’s okay, Sparky,” She cooed, wrapping her arms around Wrylen and tucking the mage’s head against her chest, “I know, I know. That wine really was terrible, wasn’t it?”

A genuine laugh escaped Wrylen’s chest and leaned into the rogues comforting grip. Though she couldn’t see it, she swore she could feel Sera smirk against her hair.

The taste of bitter herbs still lingered on her tongue, and she found herself hoping it would never go away. It tasted like home.


	3. Hirol's Lava Burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It tastes like burning." Brewed exclusively in Kal'Hirol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warnings: death, depression, basically the events of Haven
> 
> Okay, the first two chapters followed the canon locations of where the alcohol was found, but now we're diverging from that because I want to lol

She spent the weeks since their arrival at Skyhold always feeling cold.

Wrylen never shivered, or felt her teeth chatter, but she was just so, _very_ cold. 

Sometimes she forgot about it. Varric often lured her into idle chatter when she passed by, spilling gossip about everything and everyone, eliciting soft chuckles and distant smiles from her lips, and she'd be okay for a moment. Or Dorian would bring up his home in conversation, and her curiosity would lead to questions whose answers distracted her just enough to pull her thoughts away from the invisible frost clutching at her toes. Sera and Iron Bull regularly kidnapped her with the goal of helping her make a fool of herself, which would remind her that some people still saw her as an actual person, a friend. That recognition would tint her cheeks red and blow away some of the snow piled up on her shoulders.

But then, when she was alone again, she'd remember Haven and the bodies she’d buried under the mountain.

Wrylen sat in Skyhold’s near-empty great hall, curled up with a blanket in a chair so close to one of the roaring fires that she was almost in danger of catching the flame. Not even in sleep was she able to escape the cold; her dreams were viewed as if through a frosted windowpane, and she never liked what she saw. With each slip of her mind into the fade, she’d picture the mountain as it buried her, the burning imprint of the false-god’s claw around her wrist, and the icy terror in Adan’s eyes as she chose Mineave’s life over his.

Her inability to dream peacefully led to her resenting the confinements of her personal quarters, so she found herself seeking refuge elsewhere during her sleepless nights. Tonight, it was late, late enough that the only other bodies she encountered were a pair of servants who flitted in and out of the hall, busy with their own work. One of them attempted to tend to her fire, but he only got as far as bringing her more kindling before she asked him to just let her be.

"The fire is warm, welcoming, flames flick and flare, they melt the ice, like the snow around the glowing buildings but why won't they melt you?"

She could feel Cole's gaze on her at her side, where there had been only empty space and darkness a second before.

"You can't save them all, can never save them all. They all know this, and still they stay. They want to stay."

Wrylen pulled her hands out of her cocoon and stretched them out toward the flames, stopping only short of letting the fire lick at her fingers. She responded almost apologetically, feeling an icy stab of guilt at the thought that he only knew her pain because he could feel it himself.

"It doesn't make failing them hurt any less. It doesn't stop me from feeling so cold."

Cole was quiet for a moment before the sudden absence of his energy alerted to his departure. She felt the guilt in her chest tighten, _wanting_ to be fixed, to be okay, so that she could stop failing him too.

She stayed staring into the fire, watching the wood blacken and shrink. After a time, heavy but quieted steps pulled her attention away from the fire, and she waited, listening to their approach.

"You okay there, Boss?"

Iron Bull came up to her side, a quirked brow the only hint of expression on his face. Wrylen gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Did Cole get you?"

Bull shrugged, "He basically said you could use a drink, but in his creepy spirit-demon-thing way. Come on, the night's still young."

She followed him back to the Herald's Rest without protest, too numb to put up a fight.

True to Bull's words, the tavern was still lively. For a moment, she felt embarrassed to be walking into the place in the casual clothes she wore, accented by the blanket around her shoulders. But if anyone cared about her dragged-out-of-bed aesthetic, they made no mention of it. A couple of new recruits greeted her warmly, but other than that, no one turned a head in her direction.

Bull directed her toward the empty bar, and they settled in beside each other. Cabot grunted a ‘good evening’ to them both and passed Bull a bottle and glasses.

"So. I’m not an eloquent guy, and I don’t want to cross a line. So, if you want to talk, talk. If not, then don’t,” Bull pulled the stopper and poured them each a shot, "Cole mentioned you were cold, so I’m gonna focus on warming you up. How's that sound?"

Wrylen hesitated, before reaching for a glass, "Why not, it can't hurt."

She threw back the amber liquid and felt molten heat coat her throat. The burn was clean, pure and scorching, and settled in her stomach like a warm broth.

She coughed once she came up for air, feeling like she'd swallowed fire. Bull laughed and slammed his hand on her shoulder.

"Damn, if that ain't _hot_. Nothing burns the innards quite like Dwarven liquor!” 

She winced at the weight of him and poured herself another shot.

Bull snored softly beside her, passed out on his stool with his upper half strewn across the bar. She couldn't stop her lips from curling into a small grin in response to his drunken state. Though she’d stopped drinking after a third shot, Bull’s company was pleasant enough that she stayed and conversed with the Qunari as he single-handedly polished off their bottle. She promised an exasperated Cabot a raise alongside her generous tip (produced from Bull’s coin purse as she was without hers) and stood to leave the now empty establishment.

Cole had never fully reappeared, but she had felt his energy moving through the area on and off throughout the night, probably trying to find another way to help her. Iron Bull was becoming a good friend, and she appreciated his companionship, but she still felt like a block of ice after their time together. The only significant change was her lack of sobriety.

She crossed the tavern's threshold and climbed up the nearby stairs to the battlements, content to take her time getting back to her quarters. She made it to the topmost step before tripping on the blanket still hanging from her shoulders, muttering a slurred curse as she prepared hit the ground.

She never made contact, however; strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her up against a solid chest.

"Inquisitor! Are you alright?"

Her Commander's face peered down at her, surprised and concerned. He released his hold on her as she replied, though his arm closest to her hovered at his side as if prepared to grab for her again if needed.

"I'm- yes. Yes, I am. I'm sorry, I've had a little to drink," she stuttered, ashamed of her current state. Cullen looked her over, a hint of amusement in his gaze.

"I… see. I guess that explains the blanket?" He mused. Her distant stare as she failed to react wiped the smirk from his face. His hand came to her arm, brushing against her sleeve cautiously.

"Wrylen..?"

Her name, soft and gentle on his lips shattered her. At the sound of her broken sob, Cullen pulled her close, saying nothing. She didn't know how long they stood there, with him holding her as she drowned his shirt in her tears. He didn't release his grasp until her sobs had eventually quieted.

Without a word, Cullen guided her to his office with a gentle hand at the small of her back. Once inside, he pulled out his chair for her to take, only leaving her side to grab a second for himself.

Now that she had calmed, she used their quiet moment to take him in as he pulled the extra chair over to his desk. For the first time ever, Cullen was without armor in her presence. Instead of donned in his plate and leather gloves, he was dressed plainly like herself, as if he’d been about to turn in. He was even without his cloak, which hung by one of the doors to his tower.

She finally spoke up as he settled in his seat next to her, her voice apologetic and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry, Commander. You shouldn’t see me like this.”

His gaze was kind and caring, pulling her in and tethering her to his voice, “If you’re uncomfortable, I can walk you back to your quarters… However,” He hesitated, glancing away from her with uncertainty.

“If… you need to talk… I know it might be presumptuous of me, but I’d like to be here for you,” He cleared his throat, a blush tinging his cheeks, “If you need someone to talk to.”

She looked down at her hands and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. The action stirred him, and he left her side again only to return to wrap his cloak around her.

“I thought Haven would be the coldest place I’d ever been,” He mused quietly, conscious of her fragile state, “And yet, here we are, nestled deep in mountains covered with snow.”

She shook her head, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s not the weather that has me feeling so… cold. Even when covered in furs, sitting beside a fire, I can’t seem to get warm. It just feels so-”

Her words caught in her throat as she fought back another onslaught of tears. They were barely an arm’s reach from each other, and she wished he’d get up and close the distance between them. As if reading her thoughts, his hand reached out and rested on her shoulder, thumb rubbing against her in a soothing gesture through the layers she wore.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. I can just…be here. For you,” Cullen offered quietly. His gaze was full of concern, and she found her resolve breaking. He seemed to notice she was holding herself back, and both his hands moved to rest atop her covered ones, “What do you need?”

The tears spilled once again at his question, and she made her next request with a quivering voice that was scarcely above a whisper.

Quickly, but gently, his arms slid around her and gathered her into his lap in one solid motion. She curled into him, hiding her tears against his neck as his arms enveloped her, powerful, safe and protecting. For just moment, she was ashamed, and feared what the light of day would bring when she would once again have to face him as The Inquisitor. But then his fingers were combing through her hair, brushing it away from her moistened cheeks, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in their wake that stopped her ability to think. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her own, and she found herself quickly lulled into sleep as her tears continued to fall.

She shifted in and out of consciousness, waking when his arms would shift to adjust their hold, or when his hand roamed to rub against her back, or play with her hair again. He held her there for a while, content to let her rest against him for as long as he could. It was only at the first few signs of dawn, a single chirping bird and a slightly less darkened sky, that she felt him rise, with her still secure in his arms. She kept her eyes closed, still partially entangled by the throngs of sleep, as he walked the battlements. In a short moment of semi-consciousness, she had enough awareness to hope he was passing through Skyhold unseen at this early hour.

In the next moment, he was releasing her, laying her down into her own bed. He added yet another blanket to the layers already wrapped around her, and she caught his wrist as he turned to leave. She forced her eyes open so she could meet his gaze.

He looked vulnerable, his gaze unguarded and mouth parted slightly in a sharp exhale, and she felt something warm spread through her chest at the thought of him feeling as open and raw as herself. She smiled up at him sleepily and watched with satisfaction as the action relaxed him.

“Thank you, Cullen.” She mumbled, giving his wrist a squeeze before releasing her grasp. He was smiling back at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he reached out to brush a loose hair behind her ear, before finally turning and leaving her to her rest.

She stayed awake for a moment, gaze hanging on the space he’d occupied. A shift in the energy around her gave her a moment’s warning before Cole appeared where Cullen was once standing. His hand settled atop hers, several layers of cloth between them and she realized with a start that Cullen’s cloak was still tangled up around her.

Cole noticed her realization and turned his gaze to where the cloak’s thick, fur mantle was partially revealed. His hand left its spot on the bed and moved to brush against the fur, his voice soft and distant as he began to speak to her.

"What if she's buried, covered by the mountain? She stayed behind, why did he let her stay behind, what if she’s buried beneath the snow and no, she can't be, can't let her be, he can't lose her warmth.”

Cole sighed and turned his gaze back to her, affection in his voice and a smile on his lips, “She’s all heat, singeing his cheeks red with her smiles, igniting him with her lingering touch, his chest bursts aflame at her brazen queries. Maker, she's alive. She fell into the snow at his shout and she's ice cold, but touching her burns him, she's so cold, tears turned frozen, breath shallow, but she's here and he’s brushing the hair from her shimmering face with his burning hands. Maker’s breath, she’s alive and her face pressed against his neck scorches him like Andraste’s holy fire as he carries her to safety.”

She stared up at Cole, breathless at the raw emotions revealed to her. Her eyes had widened with each sentenced until they were once again wet with tears that threatened to spill over for a third time. She was suddenly hot, sweltering under the layers atop her, and Cole met her gaze with a happy, satisfied smile.


End file.
